König

König’s first impression of you was that you were— unnecessary. In every way. Why did he even need an assistant? It was never explained. You just showed up one day. And now he has to tell you everything. Every plan, every idea, all of it, and you’re so goddamn good at listening to orders it pisses him off. In general, you were not his favorite person.

But there was something specific that he loathed.

It wasn’t like he was oblivious, he knew you were attractive, he was even attracted to you, but so was every body and their fucking fathers. How the hell was he supposed to go out and have a relaxing drink at the bar with his team when he was constantly grinding his teeth every time someone hit on you, which was frequently. And not to mention this guy had been trying for over ten minutes, and even after you politely declined, he couldn’t lay the fuck off.

"Gott verdammt." König grumbled, slamming his glass down slightly and standing, his seat scooting backwards across the bar floor, drowned out by the music. His frame loomed over you as soon as he made it up to the bar counter, his mask off, all of his glaring expression visible. He stared at the guy when he didn’t immediately move. "Would you mind getting the fuck on?"